


‘Til Our Compass Stands Still

by china_nightingale



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, If You Squint - Freeform, M/M, Magical Tattoos, Marauder's Map, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Minor Injuries, Minor Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley, Minor Seamus Finnigan/Dean Thomas, Uncle Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-05-28 14:42:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15051392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/china_nightingale/pseuds/china_nightingale
Summary: "It was an unconventional relationship, if one could call it that. It was the way it had always been - bodies colliding while lips stayed closed, dueling and caressing and ripping one another open while hearts stayed locked safely behind cages covered in bruises from curses and kisses.There were never many words spoken. If they talked, chances were that ugly things would tumble from their tongues like they did so easily during their Hogwarts days."Harry and Draco eventually realise that things don't always go to plan, even if it's a plan they've been carefully crafting to keep themselves safe from each other.





	‘Til Our Compass Stands Still

**Author's Note:**

> Massive thanks to my friend for beta-ing and encouraging me when I felt like I lost track of this beast (even if she wants to remain anonymous).

It was an unconventional relationship, if one could call it that. It was the way it had always been - bodies colliding while lips stayed closed, dueling and caressing and ripping one another open while hearts stayed locked safely behind cages covered in bruises from curses and kisses.

There were never many words spoken. If they talked, chances were that ugly things would tumble from their tongues like they did so easily during their Hogwarts days.

_“Unless you’re a bit politer you’ll go the same way as your parents.”_

_“Keep your fat mouth shut!”_

_“How long d’you reckon you’re going to last, Potter?”_

_“You, unlike me, are a git, so get out and leave us alone!”_

_“I’m going to make you pay for what you’ve done.”_

Despite the mere inches between them, the cream of the sheets felt like the span of miles. Harry stretched his arms above his head and exhaled sharply, letting them fall back to the bed haphazardly and narrowly missing Draco’s slender form.

Draco turned to him in a shuffle of sheets and ran a hand down his forearm, tapping a pale finger against the ink faded beneath a still-fresh scar on Harry’s skin.

“Where next?”

Harry stood abruptly, walking to the [ map on the wall ](https://d2j6tswx2otu6e.cloudfront.net/eTGSMZxLTbnQ1H5Dt4MJMjyM5VI=/600x337/6073/60737cb140594b939da80211cab7a920.jpg) and pushing a red pin in a place to the north-west of the Black Sea - _possibly Moldova this time,_ Draco thought absently. Harry grumbled a quick “ten days” sleepily through the hinge gap as the door snicked closed and he shut himself in the small bathroom. The whole apartment was small. Far smaller than the Potter fortune could have afforded, but since Harry spent his time in the UK between Ottery St Catchpole and the bed Draco was currently lounging in, he supposed that he could forgive the impulsive Gryffindor for the three-room atrocity. Turning his face from the now empty room, Draco pulled the duvet higher around his shoulders and tried to sleep a little longer.

Harry pushed his hair back and let the feeble pulse of water run over his face. This apartment was a shithole, but since the only time Draco was in London were the hours they spent wrapped in each other, he supposed there was no reason for the prat to be wasting his meager earnings on the place. Although the Malfoy fortune had been whittled by reparation payments since the War, Draco had managed to carve himself a place in wizarding society (albeit on the fringes and in far-flung corners).

He reached for the soap and ran his hands across his chest and down his arms. The body wash had something healing about it and the suds soothed his days-fresh burns. The young Opaleye hadn’t appreciated being moved on from where he was trying to nest and gifted Harry with a bodily reminder of the experience. Standing under the spray to wash the soap from his body, Harry turned the water to cold to try and diminish his morning wood. He had hoped for another quick tussle this morning before he had to leave, but Draco looked so weary even in sleep that he had been reluctant to wake him.

Between Harry travelling for the dragon sanctuary and Draco scouring the globe for rare endemic potion ingredients, the stolen moments for the two of them were few and far between. They might not talk much, Harry thought with a wry smile to himself, but they did communicate in their own way.

***

Draco did not like being uninformed.

“I never know where the bloody fuck you are!” he bellowed, a surprisingly powerful note to his normally nasal whine. The apartment was in ruins in the aftermath of his earlier tantrum, their individual miscellany flung haphazardly as though Draco had thought to find Harry hiding in the depths of an abandoned cardboard box.

“I’m here,” Harry replied, placing his travelling robes gently on the demolished bed. Draco noticed the way he stepped cautiously, arms by his sides with palms facing forwards as though he were one of the other dragons he wrangled on a regular basis. “I’m here, I’m with you.”

He stepped closer and Draco didn’t have the strength to turn away from him again. He settled for closing his eyes as he felt the heat rise in his cheeks. He swallowed and choked, having to take a breath to relax before he could bear to say:

“I want to know where you are when you’re away,” the unspoken _from me_ left hanging in the thick atmosphere of the tiny room. “Even your cronies don’t know what country you’re in most of the time.”

Harry needed a moment to school the edges of a smile from his voice before he spoke, “You asked after me?” He reached a hand up to smooth the clench from the angry man’s jaw. A sharp huff escaped through thin nostrils and Draco squeezed his eyes harder in annoyance at how easily he yielded to Harry’s touch. “Do you worry?”

The cool grey eyes that met his own could’ve burned through his skull with the glare they focused on him in that moment. “You deliberately wrestle some of the most dangerous creatures on the planet, Potter. They’re fast, they’re fire-breathing, and they’re resistant to most wizarding magic. You barely survived that one at school, which we all had to watch nearly kill you, by the way, and you’re barely any more qualified now to be chasing after…”

After what, Harry never did find out. He slid his hand from Draco’s jaw into his hair and pulled the smaller man gently towards him, pressing their lips together to silence the rant that he was surely working up to.

***

Not wanting to disturb the most dangerous of sleeping dragons, Harry dressed quickly after his shower and Apparated to front gardens of The Warren with a crack. Situated not too far from The Burrow, his best friends’ home was a simple cottage with modest gardens boasting Hermione’s organisational prowess. Waving a hand at his feet, Harry’s shoelaces neatly tied themselves as he stepped up the clean pathway to the opening front door.

“Mate!” he heard Ron holler down the corridor. “Incoming!”

Harry bent down just in time to gather up the bushy-haired whirlwind as it barreled down the steps, and lifted it up onto his hip. “Morning, Hugo,” he said with a oomph. The little blighter wasn’t quite as small as he used to be. “How much taller are we this time?”

Hugo simply squeezed his arms around his uncle’s neck, giving Harry a faceful of dark curls. Trying to brush back the tangle in his mouth Harry navigated his way easily through familiar house, plopping the toddler onto the wooden benchtop and attempting to both hold him steady and reach across Ron into the pan on the stove.

“Hey, back off,” Ron warned, flailing a spatula over his shoulder in Harry’s direction and narrowly missing knocking his glasses clean from his face. “Apparently we eat breakfast like civilised people.”

Lifting the wriggling Hugo and settling onto [ the bench behind the large dining table ](http://dokodemocash.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/06/dining-room-bench-seating-plans-awesome-79-most-superb-diy-kitchen-table-storage-bench-dining-attached-to-of-dining-room-bench-seating-plans.jpg), Harry asked, “Since when?”

“Since it’s the only time of day I have the energy to enforce it.” Hermione smiled as she tucked in next to Harry on the bench, patting the seat beside her for Hugo to climb across onto. “Glad you could see us before you’re off again - Moldova is it?”

Harry reached for a piece of bacon the moment Ron put the pan on the table, plate sliding between his elbows as Hermione set the table with a well practiced swish and flick. “Straight to Balanesti, about a week this time. It’s a hiking spot, makes it a bit tricky for the Romanian Longhorn fledglings to migrate through unseen…”

The pat of a little hand on his leg reminded him to chew with his mouth closed, and Harry smiled at Rose as she pulled herself onto the chair on the other side of him. He hooked an ankle around the leg of it to pull her closer to the table as she learnt forward precariously to grasp for toast.

“And how was being home with Malfoy?” Ron struggled to keep a straight face as his wife flicked the crumbs off her fingers at him. He opened the tomato sauce bottle as he passed it to her, handing a piece of buttered toast to Harry in the process.

“It’s not really,” Harry stopped and swallowed as two sets of tiny eyes blinked at him from either side. “It’s not really home, is it? It’s his apartment that I just crash in sometimes when I’m back here for a moment.” Despite the simplicity of the statement, his brow furrowed as he tried to remember the last time he’d actually spent the night somewhere other than Draco’s place when back on the British Isles.

Another set of eyes met across the breakfast mayhem and Harry just knew they were communicating silently about him, not even behind his back like good friends would.

Hermione encouraged a piece of saucy bacon to Hugo, and looked up from her son’s blue eyes to her friend’s bright green ones. “I can’t remember the last time you stayed round.”

“You know that your room is now a playroom, right?” Ron leant back in his chair and crossed his arms, cowed by the glare thrown his way. “What? The bed might still be there under all the Lego, but those sheets are literally years old, Hermione. I think the only adult clothes in that wardrobe are your old dress robes, mate.”

Hermione opened her mouth to start a reply, but the chime of Harry’s hand moving from ‘Home’ to ‘Late’ interrupted her. Harry’s eyes widened behind his glasses and he grabbed another piece of bacon, wrapping it in toast and leaning down to brush a kiss to the top of Rose’s head.

“Duty calls,” he smiled as he pretended to steal Hugo’s nose as he squeezed out from behind the table and started towards the living room.

“Harry,” Hermione called after him, making him stop just short of the doorway and turn to give her a grin. “I like the socks. They bring out your eyes.”

Looking down in sudden confusion, he realised with a lurch that he had taken a pair of Draco’s old Slytherin socks from the drawers instead of his own. He looked back up to see Hermione sticking her tongue out at him and a very shocked Hugo looking at her and let his toast fall out of his open mouth.

“C’mon, let’s try get you outta here on time,” Ron said, clapping him on the shoulder as they strode through the hallway, nudging Rose’s stuffed dragon collection to the edges of the carpet with their feet.

Harry rubbed at the new scar on his arm with sudden nerves as they stopped in front of the fireplace. What was he supposed to say now? _Thanks for breakfast, sorry I was too busy with Draco to stay in my apparently abandoned room?_

Thankfully Ron broke the silence for him, “You know that we think he’s good for you.”

Not daring to meet his best friend’s eyes, Harry admitted, “I don’t even know what’s going on. How long has the wardrobe been empty?”

“Oh, I don’t know. How long have you had this thing for?” Ron grabbed the hand around Harry’s arm to reveal the burn he had scored in Australia with the Opaleye.

Harry shrugged, “A few days…”

Ron rolled his eyes, “Not the scar, idiot. The tattoo.” When the brunette still refused to meet his eyes, Ron nudged their shoulders together. “I mean it, you know. Might’ve taken me the better part of a decade to get used to the ferret, but me and Hermione are busy with the kids and it’s nice to know that you have someone of your own, too.”

Letting out a huff of laughter at the old insult, Harry felt himself relax again. “It’s not that easy though, really. I mean... we’ve never said, and I only crash there a few days a month… I mean we were drunk when I got this, anyway…”

Ron’s pale eyebrows were nearly in his hairline with disbelief when Harry finally looked at him. “Don’t be a dickhead. You might not see it, but the look? On his face when you take too long saying goodbye to everyone at the pub? Or when you’re helping Luna with the dishes after dinner? Or when…”

Harry gave a nervous bark of laughter. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious, Harry. Any time you’re not paying attention, he’s looking at you. The same way I see you look at him.”

“I’d love some help with the clean up if you boys are just going to stand about and talk all day!”

Harry hastily took some powder from the pot on the mantle as Ron turned to yell, “Bye, Uncle Harry!” in the direction of the kitchen, before throwing his arm around Harry in a quick hug and whispering, “If you two don’t get your act together, Hermione is going to get involved and then you know it’s going to be trouble.”

The flames glowed green as the powder hit the coals, and Harry couldn’t help staring at the inky compass on his forearm as he was whisked away from The Warren.

***

The map went on the wall sometime after **that** argument, with push-pins, pens and quills scattered amongst the unfinished school essays and parchment scraps in the old Gladstone bag shoved unceremoniously against the wall beneath it.

Sometimes their schedules would clash, leaving them unable to meet for weeks at a time. One or the other would arrive to the ramshackle room and there would be a scrap of parchment attached to the new place of the pin - a number of days or a date often written, a crude drawing sometimes included.

A few years ago, on Draco’s birthday, there had been a set of coordinates attached. Apparating to the unknown spot was a show of faith that was paid handsomely. Draco would smile in delight and embarrassment at the memory of things they had done and the words they had whispered to each other, almost revealing truths he could barely admit to himself.

For a few months, Draco would wake to see Harry sitting at the desk, having pulled the map off the wall and prodding at it with his wand. Old Charms essays were spread across the remaining desk space and magical theory books stacked at his feet, Draco wondered what his lo… what Harry was trying to achieve.

He found out much later, and the pins pushed in the map left marks of their locations not only on the map, but [ the wall behind it as well ](http://www.theartleague.org/blog/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/wall-1.jpg). Draco supposed that Harry couldn’t have been to bothered with the crumbling plaster but he asked Neville for some basic maintenance spells anyway.

While the map became more and more threadbare with the dozens of pinpricks taking over the lines of the countries, the apartment took on a more homely quality. Between the two of them, they would subtly replace old, itching sheets and repair flickering lights. It was almost a game, to see who could tidy and mend and make home in the most discreet of ways.

Because while the red and green pins showed the destinations of the travels the two men went on for their respective careers, the growing hole in the map (and the wall behind) showed the most visited place for them both was their tiny, shared sanctuary.

***

Draco peered at the note of _10 DAYS_ stuck somewhere in eastern Europe and groaned. He had no travel lined up for the next month, no rare herbs desperately needed, no difficult-to-reach flowers to scour hilltops for and no unique fungi to scrape from deep within distant caves.

He whittled away a few hours tossing and turning in the now too-large bed, the lumpy mattress a strange comfort compared to the sterile and precise bedroom of his childhood. He buried his narrow nose into the mountain of pillows and inhaled deeply, already missing the other wizard but knowing that the earthiness of his scent would cling to the sheets for the better part of a week.

He cast a quick Tempus, knowing that he shouldn’t waste the meagre winter daylight, and dragged himself from beneath the warm blankets to shuffle to the bathroom. He stumbled and scowled at the towel left on the tiles, rubbing one cold foot against the other as he waited for the shower to heat up. Maybe he could spend some time with Ron, pretending to give advice about more effective ingredients in the new line of Wheezes. He should really make time to have tea with his mother - perhaps during the week so they could go into Bath without the trouble of so many Muggle tourists.

Stepping under the spray, Draco let the scorching water dribble over him and made note to try again to do something about the water pressure. Harry might be able to cope with the equivalent of a weak sneeze, but if there was one thing worth being a prissy pureblood about it was making sure of a damn good shower.

Draco decided that he was finally damp enough to warrant soaping up and reached for the pot of cleaning salve. Given that Harry was consistently arriving home with burns and scratches and scorches, Draco had spent a few months developing a burn-heal additive to his usual showering potions. The nasty pink marks that often marred the olive-skin of his companion faded much quicker now, rarely adding to the category of scars he collected. Draco couldn’t think of a single scar he wore with pride, although he had no regrets about the deservedness of them.

His fingers brushed against the bottom of the nearly-empty jar in order to gather enough soap to give himself a proper sudsing, and he added visiting Neville to his to-do list. At least a day spent brewing in good company would fill some time until Harry’s return.

Draco stopped procrastinating and finished quickly in the shower, deciding to visit Longbottom before the day was over to make sure they had the ingredients needed for the ointment. He dried quickly and took the extraordinary effort to hang his towel. Dressing promptly, he wondered how Harry had managed to steal yet another pair of his socks as he reached for his shoes under the desk. Taking one last look at the note on the map before leaving the apartment, Draco let himself smile at the compass rose in the corner. Ten days, and Harry would be home.

***

It had been a difficult gathering at the Hog’s Head. Despite Aberforth being off-duty, he managed to coerce free rounds from his staff to commemorate the anniversary of his brother’s death. The pub was full to overflowing, patrons spilling into the heated Hogsmeade streets, and Harry could scarcely move without bumping into someone he needed to speak with, if only to be polite.

“I wish he would bloody hurry up. If he’s not here soon, I’m going to Levitate the drinks here myself,” Draco mumbled a complaint to himself. Obviously not quietly enough, if the snicker at his elbow was anything to go by.

“You know that Harry is friends with everyone,” Ron stage-whispered conspiratorially, rubbing a bead of sweat from his brow. “He brings you along to the get-togethers and you’re his nemesis!”

A hand reached out from the swarm and pulled the freckled inebriate away from Draco’s ear. “I’m fairly sure that Harry is too old now to have a nemesis. And besides, I enjoy Draco’s company too.”

Draco gave Hermione a wan smile as Harry stumbled through the crowd, catching his eye and motioning with his head to the front door of the inn. “Let’s get some air, shall we?” he said to no one in particular as he pushed off the wall, regretting the way his words sounded like an invitation as some of the more friendly Hogwarts alumni followed him.

The summer air was sticky and Draco had unthinkingly rolled his sleeves when they entered the pub at the beginning of the evening. Harry was holding the door impatiently with his backside when a hefty grip stopped Draco in his tracks, causing Luna to bump into the back of him. Ginny was nearly wrapped around him by her forward momentum as she held the ex-Ravenclaw’s hand to navigate the mob.

“What in Merlin’s name,” Ginny started, before her face softened at the face of Amos Diggory. “Oh, hello, Mr…”

Amos ignored her, staring unblinkingly into the pale grey eyes that widened at his hissed voice. “You _dare_ to be here… to flaunt that Mark in this house! On this night!”

Draco tried to pull away, but the older man dug his fingernails into the flesh of his forearm, clawing at the faded curse within his grip.

“We all know that you would’ve killed Albus if you had the chance! You and your kind killed my boy! What gives you the right to be here, to remember those who fell…” and the accusations continued, screamed at his back as Luna calmly pulled Draco’s arm free of Mr Diggory and led him outside, Ginny staying behind to try and calm her old neighbour.

Harry passed the shaken man a pint as they stepped through the door, but Draco immediately passed it on to Ron as he followed behind him.

“What the bloody hell was that all about, mate,” the red-head asked, thirstily swallowing the ale and stepping onto the street.

Frowning, Harry lifted Draco’s arm to his somewhat bleary eyes. The insulting Mark was marred with red crescents and he ran his palm over the scratches, gripping briefly at Draco’s wrist when he reached it before lacing his wide fingers with the other man’s slender ones.

“It’s just a bloody tattoo! I could get a tattoo and no one would give a shit,” Harry ranted, pulling Draco along the street as he paced in his anger at the situation.

“I highly doubt that the marring of the skin of the Chosen One would be deemed any less worthy of a story than under the fold, Potter.”

“Would you speak English?” exasperated, Harry rounded on Draco, taking his wand from his pocket and thrusting it towards a confused Ginny. “Merlin, I’m too drunk for this. Sobering Charm, thanks Gin. We’ve got to go.”

Ginny shook her head in bewilderment and drew her own wand, rolling her eyes as she charmed the two men sober. “Are you sure you’re going already?”

But Harry was already tugging a reluctant Draco along the street towards the Apparition point.

“Just three or four pints, Draco. We’ll be back before it gets too hectic, Draco. I’m now dragging you off to a mystery location to murder you, Draco.”

The midsummer sunlight almost silhouetted Harry as he spun and grinned at the smarmy complainer, almost blinding him with the brilliant image of bronzed skin, broad shoulders and bright eyes. It was a startling contrast to the skinny, unsure teen that memories of the War always conjured in Draco’s mind. “I’ll need to let Dean know we’re coming round. We’ve had this planned for ages, but we never put a date on it and I don’t think he’ll be counting on me just showing up.”

“By all means, be more cryptic.” Draco’s voice dripped with sarcasm, but he allowed a smile to soften the blow as he looked at the mischievous fool before him.

“Excellent,” Harry nodded, and with a flick of his wrist, sent his Patronus ahead of them. He pulled Draco close and Apparated them with a crack.

After his sudden appearance in what appeared to be a medical laboratory, Draco finally calmed enough for Harry to reassure him that no, he was going to be murdered, and that the bizzare equipment was not for destroying evidence.

Dean had been ecstatic to find them in the studio beneath his flat, “But honestly, Harry, could you use the front door next time?”

He pulled the trolley topped with equipment closer to where they’d set up. He tested Harry’s skin, pressing a gloved palm to his arm and judged the capillary refill time in the tanned surface.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this,” Draco whispered incredulously. “It will probably hurt.”

“I know,” Harry said, unworried.

Dean lifted the tattoo gun menacingly.  “I hope you know what you’re in for. You’re a masochist, I’ve always said so.”

Harry sat stoically in anticipation as the tattoo gun buzzed to life and watched the blood drain from Draco’s already pale face. The artist touched the machine to skin on the inner side of his left arm.

The pain, though subtle, was exquisite. The vibrations of the machine were heavenly against the dullness of the Sobering Charm. Harry relaxed back in the chair, eyes half-closed, his body’s endorphins had kicked in and reduced him to a pliant state.

Draco shifted uncomfortably in his chair and when Dean paused a moment to wipe away the excess ink, Harry extended his free hand to rest on his knee.

A fine sheen of sweat had broken out over his pointed features and he chewed nervously on his cheek, startling at the contact.

“Are you okay?”

A slight huff of air escaped from Draco as he uncrossed and recrossed his arms. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

The needle hovered just inches over Harry’s skin, and Dean took a moment to watch the two men. One being marked by choice by a friend and the other marked by the coercion of a madman. He turned his concentration back to the task at hand, finished the intricate design carefully and wiped the raw skin clean.

“It’s getting late. Remember what I said about looking after it - I’m serious, Harry, you’re not made of stone - keep it clean and no spells until it’s properly healed.” Dean caught a glimpse of movement from the doorway to the flat and smiled, knowing it was past his bedtime and he was expected. “You guys let yourselves out. We’ll see you at Neville’s birthday next month.”

Harry allowed his fellow Gryffindor to place a stasis charm on the fresh ink, both knowing that Draco probably had a better ointment back at his apartment. He stood, taking the still uneasy blond by the elbow, and walked to the front door. Carefully locking it behind them, he reached to let Draco grasp his hand to take them home. Draco beat him to the chase and delicately twisted their clasped hands to get a better look.

“[ It’s the compass ](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/e3/28/99/e32899e683acecaff109061a578133c5.jpg),” Draco said dumbly after a moment, staring at the shining stain on Harry’s arm. “From the map.”

“Well,” Harry started to explain, “the map is Muggle. I tried working the Marauders’ charms onto it, but it’s not inherently magical enough. But once this is healed, the ink should take the spellwork. The compass will always point me home.”

Looking back later, Draco will blame his particular denseness on the stress of the evening.

***

Neville insists it’s fine to spend the night. Draco had spent more time than he would normally be comfortable in the company of Gryffindors, but Pansy was away consulting with Beauxbatons Academy and Blaise was caught up in Italy with his mother’s family; other school friendships not quite standing the test of time and work colleagues never quite getting past the similarity in appearance to his father.

The apartment was uncomfortable with the gnawing absence of Harry, and Draco had done his best to keep himself busy. He’d initially come around to bother Longbottom into working on their research into crossbreeding an alternative to Standard Ingredient but they’d given up in the early sunset. A few too many Firewhiskeys warmed their bellies as the evening darkness deepened.

“You know,” Neville said, pointing surprisingly directly given his inebriation, “that Harry would let you tag along if you asked him.”

Draco scoffed at the idea. “I can’t do that! It’s bad enough that I’ve all but moved myself into his apartment. I can’t go inserting myself into his professional life. It would be… it would be unbecoming.” He slouched into the couch and drew his legs up underneath him, rather proud at himself for not having hiccuped aloud.

“His apartment.” Neville closed his eyes in confusion. “What apartment are we talking about? The dormroom at the Romanian sanctuary?”

“Don’t be daft. The apartment in London. Up Chalk Farm way, with the awful wallpaper and the window that stares straight at the Underground.”

Neville opened his eyes to regard Draco’s slowly-sliding-into-horizontal form. “His apartment.”

Letting his head rest against the arm of the sofa, the potioneer set his glass of Ogden’s on the floor. “I know I used to tease you about being thick, but this is taking it a bit beyond. Harry’s apartment in London. Where he lives when he’s in the country. Where nobody visits because it’s a mess. Harry’s apartment.”

“Oh yes. _Harry’s_ apartment. That we don’t visit. Even though it’s _Harry’s_ apartment.” There was a chuckle to Neville’s voice as he stood and collected the tumbler, flicking the lights off and making his own way to bed.

“If you think you can just tease me back because we work together now, you have another thing coming,” Draco yawned as he dragged the blanket from the back of the couch and toed at his shoes.

Neville wondered if the Slytherin really was so clueless to the build of the connections around him. Their steadily growing relationship had started as a partnership of convenience - potioneer and herbologist - but was now counted among Neville’s most significant friendships. He couldn’t wait until the dragon wrangler got back. Honestly, Harry’s apartment. What a laugh.

***

Harry knew Draco was going to be seething when he arrived. Neville had sent an owl to let him know that they’d been detained at the International Potkey Office. Or at least Draco had been, and Neville had been too chivalrous to leave him behind.

The pair of them had been in Sumatra to collect the sap-like pollen from Rafflesia arnoldii. Neville had tagged along on this particular journey - an invitation to see the rare plant in its natural environment was a chance too good to miss - and they knew the foul stench of the flower would make it difficult to transport the invaluable ingredient back into England.

The door to the apartment flung open with a bang and closed with an equally loud slam, and Harry could hear Draco throwing his things down in the kitchen-slash-dining-slash-entryway. He stood to see if there was anything he could do to help, almost running into Draco as he barged into the bedroom.

Still flushed with anger and shame, Draco gave himself barely a moment to be shocked and relieved at Harry’s presence before he crashed up against him and stumbled them to the opposite wall, throwing Harry against it and kissing him with a furious, desperate passion. Their noses bumped and their teeth clashed and the intensity was just this side of violent. Harry was left grappling at Draco’s shoulders to try and gain the space to breathe.

Although he was slighter, Draco was by no means lacking in strength. He fisted his hands in Harry’s hair and wrenched his head back to expose his neck, biting and tugging and forcing his body closer so that Harry imagined he could almost feel the flutter of heartbeat against his own chest.

“Draco…” he managed to rasp, letting his hands fall from shoulders to waist and holding tightly to try and keep himself upright in the dizzying moment.

The blond didn’t reply, instead removed a hand from its tangle in the ebony hair to push at Harry’s jaw until his neck is almost painfully turned and Harry could feel the scrape of Draco’s teeth against his evening stubble. Harry felt his Adam’s apple bob under Draco’s lips as he swallows, trying to force some moistness into his dry mouth and take back some control of the situation. He shuddered as he exhaled, “Draco,” and his ankle smarted as it was kicked wider to give the other man room between his legs.

Draco was fiery and fierce and forceful in his arms, but as he tried loosen the limpet gnawing his throat he felt a dampness beneath his fingers and knows that this isn’t really what Draco wants or needs.

“Stop a minute.”

Harry let his thumb brush against the eyelashes that he’s sure Draco doesn’t even realise are wet. The pressure against his neck disappeared and he inhaled with a shudder as his airway expanded. Draco’s hands stilled as his forehead dropped to his shoulder. Keeping his head bowed, he breathed erratically into Harry’s collar. Harry ran a soothing palm across the small of Draco’s back, pushing his shirt up to spread a hand against the anger-warmed skin and pressing against the hollow between his shoulder blades.  

Whatever tension Draco had been fueling fled as he shuddered a breath, feeling himself go lax in Harry’s hold as the pressure of the hand on his back released the coil of fury in his chest. He let his hands fall to Harry’s chest, allowing himself to be held together as the taller man dropped his hand from his face and wrapped his arm around his shoulders.

Harry nosed at the blond’s hair and breathed him in, his whole body craving the contact. Draco let himself be maneuvered away from the wall and towards the bed, where Harry sat gently on the edge and drew him into his lap. Feeling himself to go heavy and liquid at the comfort, Draco leaned dully into Harry’s embrace and mumbled incoherently as he continued to stroke soothingly across his back.

“Sorry,” Harry asked, leaning back and trying to support Draco’s limp form, “What was that?”

“They took the samples.” Draco whispered, as though the admission would break the suddenly calm air between them. “They took everything. They’re always taking everything.”

“Even though Neville…”

“Longbottom didn’t help!” he cried, clapping his hands to his mouth as though he could take the outburst back.

Harry pressed his lips to Draco’s forehead, wriggled himself to sit against the wall and pulled Draco along with him, never letting go of the man within his arms.

“Neville couldn’t help,” he admitted with a sigh. “They smelt the pollen as soon as we landed and when they saw me they didn’t bother asking questions. I could’ve just handed it over, but we hiked for _days_ to find a suitable flower and to just let them take it to be destroyed…”

Draco let out a tired hiccup and Harry clenched his jaw as the sound tore through his resolve.

“I should speak with Percy and let him know kind of idiots he has working in his department.” He couldn't help the growl his words came out as. “They have no right…”

“But every suspicion. Don’t bother Weasley.”

The resignation in Draco’s voice hurt more than the misdeeds of the Portkey Officers, but Harry knew that his interference would only make things worse. Sighing deeply and feeling the weight of Draco against his chest helped calm the indignation somewhat. Harry realised he was holding onto Draco tightly, and released his grip somewhat.

Draco hiccuped again, softer this time, and Harry tugged at the hem of his shirt. Draco hated falling asleep in his travelling clothes and he would surely be blamed if he woke in the morning still wearing them. Awkwardly allowing Harry to divest him of his shirt, Draco kicked at his shoes until they too fell from the bed and he settled down into the space between Harry’s legs.

Letting his resentment cool into exhaustion, Draco rested his head against the firm stomach beneath him, relaxed his closed eyes and let himself ride the wave of tranquility that came as Harry’s fingers stroked his hair. He lifted a hand to rest on the taller man’s thigh, letting his weary body melt into the familiar comfort of being surrounded by Harry.

Letting the anxiety of the confrontation unwind from his limbs, Harry shuffled down into the mattress. He wrapped his arms more securely around the nearly-sleeping blond and let himself relax against the pillows. Seizing the moment to look down at the resting man in his embrace he watched the long, almost silver eyelashes cast shadows against Draco’s cheeks. The hectic rise and fall of his chest had calmed to a steady cadence and he allowed his own eyes to flutter closed knowing that Draco was home safe, if not entirely sound.

***

Ten days.

That’s what he’d said.

But now it was past two weeks. There had been no note, no owl, no firecall, not even an infuriatingly well-formed patronus.

A cold, brittle agony settled over his chest. He knew that if he inhaled too deeply his heart would shatter into a furnace of ashes and so he kept his lips pressed tightly, hyperventilating, head spinning with the realisation that Harry still wasn’t home.

Why wasn’t he home yet? _When did Harry’s place become home to me?_ something asked in the back of his mind, but it was brief and insignificant compared to the overwhelming weight of the emptiness of the room.

Without warning, the inaction of waiting became unbearable. The stillness was needles in his bones and bubbles under his skin. He tore through the apartment - bottles and vials clattering to the tiled floor of the bathroom where Harry’d held him after a night at the local gone too long, odd socks and crusted flannels exposed to the wretched light of day as the bed was thrust to the side, papers flying through the air as Draco flung the Gladstone bag across the room.

A scrappy piece of parchment settled onto the desk where the map lay, oddly ragged despite its blankness. As Draco stepped closer, the parchment seemed to shimmer transparent and the image of the compass rose blurred through onto the empty surface. He pressed his hands to the desk to steady himself.

“I am not going mad. What in Salazar’s name was that?” he whispered, before letting out a rather undignified sound as words scrawled themselves across the unmarked page.

_Mr Moony presents the Marauder’s Map to Draco Malfoy and begs that its secrets be put to good use._

_Mr Prongs also welcomes the trusted family of the map’s creators and would like to add that he is pleased with its rediscovery._

_Mr Padfoot would like to register his astonishment that young Mister Malfoy has joined the ranks of respectable rebel Blacks._

_Mr Wormtail bids Draco good day, and advises him to get his act together._

The words bled from the page almost as quickly as they had appeared. Draco stared unblinking, wondering if he actually was losing his mind, when the image of the compass bled through the parchment again.

“I don’t have time for this nonsense. I have to find Harry.”

The Marauder’s Map, or whatever the bloody thing called itself, seemed to solidify the picture that Draco had become so used to seeing on the broad arm of his… well. Could he even name it?

He leant back, rubbing his hands over his weary face to try and bring some sense to the situation. “What is the point of this? Where is he?”

_Wouldn’t you like to know?_

I’m having an argument with litter, Draco thought somewhat hysterically. “Actually yes, I would.”

_Why do you need to know where he is?_

“Because he’s missing! Merlin knows what trouble he’s fallen into this time, what with his propensity for taking on Dark Lords and dangerous creatures and idiot friends…”

_Why do YOU need to know where he is?_

“Because nobody else is worried yet. He’s forever going off on some dalliance or other but he always lets me know when he’ll be back. Always.”

_Why do you NEED to know where he is?_

“I swear, if this is wasting my time I’m going to rip you into shreds and use you as kindling under my cauldron.”

_Why do you swear?_

The ridiculousness of the moment flit through his mind as the room started to sway. Draco realised that he was still breathing rapidly and panic started to bubble in his chest. His overactive imagination started to put troublesome images into his mind and Draco clamped down on them with all the willpower he could muster.

“Because I don’t know what I’ll do if I’m too late. If he’s okay, he would have send a message by now. And he’s too foolishly Gryffindor to leave altogether without saying something.” He took a laborious breath, hugging his arms around his narrow torso to try and get a grip on something, if not the situation.

_How do you swear?_

“He is,” Draco swallowed, needing a moment to compost himself, even if he was only going to admit this to himself and an enchanted piece of paper. “He is the most important thing to me. If I find him, I’ll tell him. I swear on my ruined name. I swear on his stupidly green eyes. I swear on this troll-shite apartment.”

_HOW do you swear?_

“I solemnly swear.”

Draco snatched the Map off the desk in trembling hands as the compass began to tilt, moving ever so gently to point to the west. Without hesitation, he Apparated.

***

Harry tapped his good hand against his wand pieces, kept together by the holster still strapped to his broken leg. Well, his broken right leg. There had been… seven? eight? dragon dealers show up at the Longhorn transient nest site a week into his trip.

It wasn’t surprising that they had been upset by Harry’s interruption to their trapping.

It was surprising, however, to have been attacked by what appeared to be a Lethifold. It was too cold this time of year for one to be active so far from the equator, but truth be told Harry hadn’t taken the time to stop and ask about the implied training and travelling with a Dark creature.

He had instinctively thrust wild magic in the direction of the creature and in return been flung sideways into a tree by an Impediment Jinx. Hearing a sickening crack and not wanting to think too much about whether it was wood or bone, Harry turned towards the poachers with the heavy feeling of mud in his veins.

The jinx had a solid hold of him, and he was much too slow to defend against the curses that sizzled through the air. The skin on his arm peeled back with alarming clarity, he felt his knee displace and he crumpled to the forest floor as the leaf-litter spun around him, whipping dirt into his eyes and grating at his exposed skin.

Time seemed to move oddly, but he closed his eyes in determination and thought of being at home. He Disapparated with an odd-sounding pop, and knew immediately that he had overstretched and miscalculated the destination.

Instead of landing into the shamble of an apartment, Harry free-fell several feet before bouncing down a stony cliff-face, arm wrenching as it caught against an outcrop, and he finally landed heavily on wet stones.

Harry forced open one rapidly swelling eye and tried to focus on the shapes in front of him. He closed it again when he realised he was lying in front of [ Lurking Fear Stack ](http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Bk9Z0oWSQ34/VTtCt8DGgVI/AAAAAAAAB3c/oJO5YB31-xg/s1600/DSC02718small.jpg). Seems as though his internal compass was muddled now the one on his arm was shredded, he thought as he let darkness take him.

***

Draco was exhausted from the scores of short Apparition jumps. His first few had been erratic, following the turn of the compass rose which pointed west long enough for him to end up across the Irish Sea before sending him north.

It was getting dark when he arrived in Donegal. He weaved his way hurriedly along the coast, half-running, half-Apparating whenever he could find a space large enough to see where he would land.

He ended up near a tiny spit of land surrounded by cliffs. Not wanting to waste energy on a Lumos, he scoured the beach and saw, well, not much more than a lump, but clothed in the cool burgandy of the dragon wrangler’s travelling cloak. Draco rushed down the pebbles and fell breathlessly, scrambling the last few inches to Harry’s side.

Harry is jerked awake by a hard slap across the face.

“Don’t you dare. Don’t you even dare.”

Harry inhaled gingerly. He didn’t realise the afterlife had this much violence.

“Open your eyes, you arsehole. I will slap you again if I have to.”

Harry coughed, grimacing at the stabbing pain in his ribs, and peered between his dark lashes to see a very worried grey eye glaring at him. “Ouch.”

“Don’t you fucking close your eyes like that again. Six years is not nearly enough, do you understand?”

“I think I fell.”

“No shit, Rowena! You’re a bloody state,” Draco stopped his inspection of Harry’s injuries as each gentle press of his fingertips drew winces and clean tracks of tears down the dirty but ashen face.

“I’m serious, Harry. Stay with me. I’ve barely managed to make good for the wasted time in school, and you’re going to die me now? I don’t think so.”

“Eight.”

“What?” Draco tried to focus on the barely-there conversation, knowing it was keeping Harry lucid, but he was busy trying to figure out how to get his - well, fuck it - his boyfriend/lover/soulmate/everything to safety and care.

“Eight years I moved in.” Harry’s voice was rasping, and Draco wondered how long he’d been without water.  Casting a weak Aguamenti, he lifted a shaky hand to Harry’s chapped lips and encouraged him drink a little.

After barely a mouthful, Harry’s parched throat spasmed and he coughed, nearly passing out from the pain of the jolt through his broken body.

Panicking at the sight of green eyes rolling under Harry’s eyelids, Draco set a palm firmly against Harry’s sallow cheek and gathered all the magical strength he had left, Apparating them the almost five hundred miles to St Mungo’s.

Harry convulsed through the squeeze of magical travel. The uncontrolled bang of arrival made several people in the waiting area scream, and he vaguely heard Draco’s voice shouting for help above the hysteria.

He felt himself levitate from the cold floor, and he tried to lean into the clammy hand that slid from his face as he was carefully directed past a doorway and towards somewhere with bright lights.

A welcome wizard held an arm across Draco’s heaving chest as he tried to follow the mediwitches taking Harry down the corridor.

“You’ll be just fine, you hear me, scarhead? He’ll be just fine. He will be fine, won’t he?”

***

The quiet shuffle of sheets was all it took to wake Harry. The warmth pressed against his side disappeared, and the bed dipped and rose as Draco stood.

He listened in the dark as a toilet flushed, water running through the pipes in the opposite wall, and he reached a hand out to the space where the bedside table ought to have been. Unable to reach his glasses. Harry felt suddenly disoriented and uneasy and cracked open his gritty eyes to croak, “Draco?”

“I’m here.” A familiar body pressed back up against him, relaxing his aching muscles and calming his disquieted nerves. “I’m here, I’m with you.”

“Where are we?” Harry wasn’t too bothered where they were, but, “This isn’t your apartment.”

Draco breathed a laugh against his throat. “No. This isn’t your apartment. We’re at St Mungo’s.”

Harry lifted a heavily bandaged arm to pull the slight man closer against his side. “That explains the sterile smell. And the pain.” He held tighter as Draco made to move. “And what do you mean _my_ apartment?”

“I’ve been talking with your visitors, since you’ve been too rude to wake up and entertain them yourself,” Draco started, his voice not quite light enough to carry the jibe through his obvious concern. “I think we share an apartment.”

Burying his nose in the blond’s unkempt hair, Harry tried to remember how hard he had hit his head. “I don’t think so. After Hogwarts was rebuilt you mentioned that you wanted a place to stay in Muggle London,”

“And you helped me go looking because I’d never dealt with a real estate agent before,”

“And I ended up staying over quite a bit,”

“Because we both travel and it was an easy place to not bump into anyone else,”

“Exactly, you weren’t there a lot of the time so I could sneak in and crash when I didn’t want to bother Hermione and Ron,”

“I had always snuck rent payments to the agency because I knew I was using up all your hot water,”

“But it’s your apartment.”

“Neville laughed at me when I told him it was your apartment.”

“You said what?”

Draco lifted his head from where it was pillowed on Harry’s chest and dug his chin into his sternum, shining eyes looking directly at the man beneath him. “I always thought it was yours. Eight years ago you followed the estate agent into the kitchen and then you were letting me hide away in your apartment whenever I had to be in England.”

Harry swallowed heavily. “Six years ago I stopped hoping to bump into you and asked Neville to give me a heads up whenever you’d be around.”

Dropping his shocked face into the space under Harry’s arm, Draco let out a laugh. “He never told me that part.”

The two of them lay there in their thoughts, cocooned by the ambient silence of the room. A thin hand slid from chest to neck, caressing gently at a strong jaw, and a broad shoulder nudged to move a pointy chin out from an aching pectoral.

It was domestic, and peaceful, and comfortable, and wonderful, but:

“Do I remember you slapping me?”

Draco had to roll away from Harry in his hysterics, laughter bubbling up from deep within him, washing the worry from his soul and leaving tears running down his cheeks. Harry lay on his side and wrapped his arms around him, kissing gently at the nape of his neck as Draco hiccuped his way back from overwrought. Eventually they settled back into the tranquility of one another.

“I spoke with Dean. I’m not sure what to do about your tattoo,” Draco admitted, his voice awash with guilt. “I tried a new healing balm on it but it hasn’t moved. I’m sorry.”

Harry awkwardly tried to unwrap the bandage from his arm without letting up his hold on Draco, but the tangle of limbs and bandages was too unmanageable and the two of them ended up sitting upright against the headboard. Draco tapped his finger against the ink faded beneath the scar from the Paring Charm. The Slytherin in him thought it was ingenious to use a cooking spell in a duel but he was mostly horrified by its effect on the mark beneath it.

“See. Immobile.”

Harry tilted his arm to and fro and smiled sheepishly. “I think you’ve been caught by the perspective of it.”

“Look, I’ve already had the Granger-Weasley’s call my intelligence into question over the whole living situation thing. I don’t need you poffling with the Puffskeins.”

A broad hand gripped at Draco’s forefinger, placing it at the compass needle. Harry held the finger still as he turned his arm, his smile growing in league with the blush rising in his cheeks.

The needle didn’t stay under Draco’s finger.

It did, however, stay pointing at Draco.

He dropped his hands to his lap and shifted slightly, not quite sure what to make of the situation. The compass wasn’t entirely broken, but it wasn’t showing true north.

“I’m sorry. I should not have used the experimental bark in the salve. It must’ve reacted with the charmwork…”

One of Harry’s hands landed on the side of his neck as the other held onto Draco’s bicep and they’re kissing. Draco gasps into Harry’s mouth and Harry presses his advantage, leaning into him, his whole body turned towards him. Draco’s whole body unfolds against him, his tentative touches guarded, and he drew in a shuddering breath of Harry’s air as he leant back to press his forehead against Harry’s.

“You idiot,” Harry breathed with affection. “I charmed it to point home.”

Harry shifted his arm and Draco watched breathlessly as the compass needle followed him. Harry placed his hand over the centre of Draco’s chest and bit at his lip, suddenly nervous, as the compass pointed directly up his arm to Draco’s heart and stood still.

Draco looked up, eyes glassy with tears and pupils blown wide. His bottom lip was pulled between his teeth, as if he was biting back the words that threatened to spill from his lips. Knowing it was still too early to say out loud what they’d both been feeling for years, Harry leant forward and pressed into Draco with the heat of dragon’s flame.

***

They fell asleep eventually sometime before dawn. When the matron bustled in, bringing breakfast and visitors and happy exclamations that Harry had woken, Harry took a moment in the madness to catch Draco’s eye.

“Are we okay?”

“I think we’ll be just fine.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: #23 by vaysh  
> Song: West by Sleeping at Last  
> Special Request: a mention of the Marauders' Map and "I solemnly swear"  
> Squicks/Triggers: none  
> Max. Rating: Explicit


End file.
